Black Sabbath

Sunday is widely recognised as a day of rest. Just not by Satans Minions. At 5am this morning Minion number two decided she had had enough of sleeping and should really be getting up. Understandably the husband and myself weren't really agreeing with her but given the volume she is capable of screaming at she won out and we were up. Not long after we were joined by a very grumpy Minion number one who started demanding a cooked breakfast (sometimes I think she believes she lives in a five star hotel with 24 hour catering and maid service on stand by).

The husband thinks his car is about to die (it has had several near death experiences and been skillfully resurected by my dad but I think this may finally be it) so we went to have a look round the garages. This is an extremely depressing experience if you are on a budget. The salesmen look at you from across the lot, delighted at the prospect of a customer, they come beetling over all smiles and friendly banter and then you tell them how much you want to spend. They suck their teeth, mumble something about an ageing Fiesta they have stashed out back (rather like wash day knickers) and then scuttle off to the rather more wealthy looking people who have just pulled up in something that isn't covered in 3 months worth of road dirt and filled with nursery artwork and half rotted bananas. Next stop Autotrader.

This is Minion number two having a mid-lunch nap. She woke 20 minutes later with her mouth still full of saliva sodden sandwich. Some might call it cruel to put up such an unflattering photo. I call it sweet revenge.



Quote of the day: "Daddy, you are a battered." Minion number one on being asked to tidy her room. Can't imagine where she heard language like that.